


Walk

by nothingwrongwiththerain



Series: Run/Walk/Crawl... [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sorry again, Steve gets sick, Still no sex, shower scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:41:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwrongwiththerain/pseuds/nothingwrongwiththerain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's been sick before, it's a regular winter occurrence. Bucky is used to taking care of him - when Steve can make it home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk

Steve stood at the front of the crowd, contemplating the factory entrance in the frosty morning air. Workers with passes were filing by, easing around the mob and avoiding eye contact. The herd was waiting for the buzzer to sound, the call for foremen to come out and snag a few men to fill empty positions. 

The prospect of work drew more than a few interested parties waiting in the early morning light. Infrastructure work ground to a halt during the coldest months, despite the promises of the WPA. Shanty towns swelled as credit ran out, unforgiving lenders recovering from the dip in ’37. Steve was finishing high school when times got harder, again, barely a year before his mom passed. 

Since moving in with Bucky, they’d pooled paychecks to cover rent and food. Steve was more than a little conscious that Bucky’s work at the Navy yard wasn’t seasonal. But Steve could hardly keep hold of a job during the winter months – nobody wanted to hire someone who disappeared for weeks at a time. 

Huffing out a cloud, Steve swallowed hard. His throat was sore at the beginning of the week, but he needed the work to feel useful. Didn’t matter that his head was pounding, that he had to stop and rest twice on his way to the factory. Behind him, the crowd was grumbling indistinctly regarding the weather, breadlines, and again the weather. 

New York was no stranger to snow, but the subzero night started early this year. The rows of window panes were steadily melting icy designs as production began. Snow was yet to fall, to clean up the streets, instead the sharp edges of downtown took on a cold blueblack reality that had Steve burying his hands in his pockets, imagining a pair of shoes without worn out heels. 

Clearing his throat again, Steve sipped on the air that was tearing at this throat. Steve hadn’t gone a single year of his life without an annual illness of some kind taking him out of the world for a few weeks. It didn’t matter what he did, the coughing always caught up with him. He could usually go a few days, even a week before he had to stay home. 

He didn’t hold onto many memories of being sick. Weeks blended together in a haze of high fevers, fighting for air, and Bucky hovering about nervously. With only Bucky working, they didn’t have the money for a hospital, Steve wouldn’t have gone anyways. 

After all the hours his mom spent as a nurse, the awful reality of her death was a constant reminder of what hospitals were capable of. Quarantines protected everyone but those trying to help. Steve’s suspicion that her exposer to TB could have been prevented sparked a little flame of resentment Steve hadn’t made any attempt to put out. 

The buzzer blared, signaling the start of the assembly line. Shifting rippled through the crowd, Steve inched closer to the stairs as men near the back tried to shuffle forward. More than one fight was likely to break out if the foreman didn’t arrive soon. The chronically unemployed were desperate, especially this close to the piles and piles of snow overhead clouds were threatening to dump. 

-

Half an hour later, Steve was secured in his spot on the line. The heat inside was a relief at first, then grew stifling. He’d worked here before, at a different end of the factory. Took him a few tries to pick up the cadence, but the regular workers were sympathetic to substitutes. Working at a factory was one of the few times Steve didn’t mind his height. When the foremen chose people, they tended to lean towards pity cases. Steve was skinny, outside he stood out. Here he melted into the mash of people, the noise and chaos of the floor. 

-

By the time they worked through lunch, Steve was beginning to harbor a few regrets. The job was the greatest number of consecutive hours he’d picked up all week, but the nonstop movement, the continual standing was beginning to wear on him. 

The lighting was harsh, pushing against his eyes. Steve wondered blearily how Bucky was doing. Gave him something to think about besides the tightness in his chest, how each breath was harder than the last. Bucky was probably hauling building material around, or trying to get back on the welders team. They made 25 cents more, but Bucky got in trouble last week for lighting a stack of designs on fire with a blowtorch. 

Steve was on the verge of giggling at Bucky’s misfortune when his knees gave out. He made a grab for the counter, fumbling as the world tilted on its axis. He tried to catch his breath, get enough air to push back the sharp spikes in his chest. Off balance, fighting for air, Steve fell forward, smacking his head against the counter. 

He was unconscious before he hit the ground. 

-

Bucky wasn’t thrilled about staying out late in November. With appearances to keep up, he’d paid a visit to the bar, put on a show of being loud and flirting shamelessly without drinking half the liquor his friend did. Like he had money for that anyways. Work at the Navy yard wasn’t bad, but the apartment they stayed in was newer – showers down the hall and everything – and he didn’t want to give that up. 

That wasn’t to say it was the nicest apartment either. Heat was a luxury people on the other side of the building enjoyed. When it got truly cold ice would claw its way under the door, window panes creaked with every gust of wind. Even before Bucky and Steve discovered each other, Bucky didn’t let Steve sleep alone in the winter, shared body heat and an unimpressive stack of blankets was all they had to combat the elements. 

So when Bucky bustled in, pulling the door hastily closed on the street lamp split darkness, swirling snow, the last thing he expected to find was an empty bed.   
Bucky felt his stomach drop. Hurrying across the room, he pushed the blankets around, as if the tangle of sheets he left that morning held an answer. Everything was in its place, the apartment was pristine as ever – Steve kept their clothes folded, few possession tucked in drawers. 

Bucky took a step back, colliding with the kitchen table. Steve was quiet that morning, intent on attempting to hide his cold from Bucky. As if his watery eyes and constant sniffing hadn’t given it away. 

Steve was working today, one of those odd jobs. He left before Bucky, whose full week schedule at the Navy Yard didn’t start till 8. Production had picked up, with the radio broadcasting nonstop coverage of how events were playing out in Europe. Bucky didn’t mind. A few years earlier and the prospects of getting a job were worse than nothing – now he could afford this place, stay in the city, stay with Steve–

Where the hell was Steve?

Horrible images flooded his mind; Steve passed out and freezing to death in a back alley, Steve at a police station in a body bag that was much too big for him, Steve too small on a metal slab–

“Fuck!” Bucky slammed his fist into the wall. Next door the neighbors tittered, a few thumps in return to his outburst. This kind of thinking wasn’t helping. He needed to be out there, looking. The door slammed behind him, scattering snowflakes at he disappeared into the dark. 

-

Bucky bundled through the after-hours entrance of another hospital a little after midnight. Snow clung to his jacket and hair, he shook off some of the cold and bee-lined for the counter. 

This marked the third hospital in as many hours. Reaching the empty counter, Bucky slammed his hand against the waiting bell. Bucky could feel himself coming unglued, his next stop would have to be a police station. Impatient, he rang the bell again, then started pacing. There was nothing for it, unless Steve was home, made his way back on his own, late from something he forgot to tell him–

“Can I help you?”

“Yes” Bucky spun around to face a petite blond nurse. She was dressed impeccably, white dress pressed perfectly, hair coifed into uptight curls. Exactly the kind of girl Bucky would be expected to flirt with, as a man with eyes and a pulse. 

“I need to know if my friend it here” Bucky said tersely, completely uninterested in keeping up appearances in the middle of the night, during a snowstorm. 

“He’s about 5’2’’, skinny, didn’t make it back after work” If Bucky’s intensity was off putting, the nurse took pains not to show it. 

“Name?” she asked. 

“Steve. But I don’t think he gave it, or he would’ve had somebody leave a message.” Bucky said, not caring how desperate he sounded. 

“Mmhmm” the nurse said, flicking through a pile of folders. “You’re right, I don’t have that name on records. Let me see…”

She pulled out another stack of admittance cards before Bucky could interrupt. Her hands picked through them quickly, then paused. 

“Short, blond?” she asked, looking up pointedly. 

“Yes” Bucky said, feeling uncomfortably hollow. “He’s alive, right?” Bucky whispered, gripping the counter so hard his hands hurt. 

“Your friend is alive” she said shortly. Bucky bit his lip, containing a scream. There was something she wasn’t saying, didn’t want to say. There was one thing worse than death in a   
hospital…

“Quarantined” she said, glancing up for his reaction. 

“Doesn’t matter” Bucky said, shaking his head, “He’ll be fine. Can I see him?”

“I’m afraid not” she said, looking at him strangely, as if concerned he didn’t know the meaning of quarantine. 

“He doesn’t belong there,” Bucky said, louder “He’s sick all the time, this is nothing”. Bucky was rambling, he knew it, but his brain was lagging behind his mouth. “This is all a big mistake,” Bucky said, “I’d like to see him.”

“That is against hospital policy and–”

“I need to see him” Bucky was practically shouting. 

“Actually,” the nurse said, “You don’t”

She turned on her heel, most likely intending to find a doctor or someone to escort him from the building. Bucky felt his grip on the situation slipping. He didn’t mean to lunge over the counter so much as lean, but he had to get a hold of her arm to stop her from leaving. 

The nurse whirled, eye bright, but Bucky got in the first word. 

“Please” he said softly, allowing some of the fear he was choking on to leak into his voice.

“I’m, I’m sorry” he loosened his grip. “I just – I – he moved in with me after his mom died – she was a nurse” Bucky wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “And, and” he floundered for a moment “I promised I’d look after him, you know?” The lie slipped out naturally, sentiment believable enough, regardless of the truth. 

Mrs. Rogers never gave Steve any special allowances. She offered no apologies, no excuses, and never told anyone to keep track of or take responsibility for her son. Not once – Bucky always loved her for that. 

Yet his fiction had the desired effect. The nurse was no longer making an effort to leave, her expression lost the intense suspicion.

“Do you have any siblings?” Bucky asked hesitantly. It was an obvious ploy, but he was hardly thinking straight as it was. 

Her shoulders relaxed a bit, she nodded with what Bucky hoped was a little sympathy. 

“Is there anything you can do?” Bucky didn’t have to try hard to pull off what Steve called a ‘wounded puppy’ expression. The look was usually directed at Steve when he was first up in the morning, trying to leave without a proper kiss. 

“I can get Doctor Saunders to review the cases in Ward C” she said after a moment’s deliberation. “But no promises” 

Bucky slumped against the counter, closing his eyes. “Thank-you”

She left without another word. Bucky counted to ten, then cracked an eye. No one arrived to take the nurses position – hopefully nobody would. 

Scrambling over the counter, upsetting a few piles of papers. Bucky grabbed the phone, checking hastily over both shoulders before dialing. 

-

A few minutes later Doctor Saunders was being called to Ward A, which Bucky was fervently hoping was greatly distanced from Ward C. 

He was skidding down hallways, passed series of closed doors. Every few feet signs with arrows pointed vaguely at opposing corridors. Everything was bright, white, and there was no place to hide. Bucky wasn’t concerned. Hospitals were expensive, people avoided them, and as a result they cut down on staff. Especially this late at night. 

Moving hastily, Bucky passed the door to Ward C and backtracked off balance. The window set in the door was blocked by an angry red sign, declaring quarantine in blocky capital letters. 

The desire to barge in was rooted somewhere deep in Bucky’s core, but he hesitated. If this was going to work he needed to think. Next to the door there was a pile of face masks.   
A few feet further back a row of wheelchairs waited.

-

Creeping down the middle of the high ceilinged room, pushing a wheelchair, Bucky scanned the beds lining the walls carefully. He heard a few muffled coughs beneath blankets, Bucky was aware of his mask restricting his breathing. 

The room was dark, but the tall windows let in the lights reflecting on snow outdoors. Examining the shapes he passed, Bucky moved quickly. Too big. Too tall. Not him. 

Then, as he was reaching the end of the hall and beginning to believe the nurse had lied, or been mistaken, there was Steve. Curled on his side, face tucked against the pillow. 

Steve was the biggest burrower, always squirming in closer till Bucky could put his chin right on top of his head, reach his arms all the way around those bony shoulders. 

Bucky didn’t bother waking Steve up – if he had it this bad, there wasn’t any point. Instead, he bundled him up with every blanket and sheet on the bed. Risking this much trouble, he might as well run off with the linens. 

Half conscious, Steve curled up in the wheelchair without much complaint, mumbling something that ended with “…do I have to?”

“Yes” Bucky said, leaning over to press a kiss on the top of his head, “You have to. We are leaving.” 

After checking the hall was clear, Bucky snagged Steve and began pushing him down a new corridor. Steve was slumped back against the chair in what didn’t look like a comfortable position, but Bucky didn’t want to risk stopping. 

Following the exit signs, they finally reached the other end of the hospital. Bucky peeked around the final corner – the receptionist desk was not empty. Swearing under his breath, Bucky looked back at Steve; face red, hair mussed, there was no way to get passed without her noticing. 

Fine, Bucky thought, screw it. If his second call hadn’t gone through, they wouldn’t make it far anyways. 

Which was how it came to pass that two men came tearing out of the poorly lit hospital entrance into the parking lot, the larger one pushing the smaller in a wheelchair, ploughing over a thick layer of snow and very nearly colliding with the waiting cab. 

Bucky all but threw Steve in the back, crawling in after him. The driver was startled, but didn’t hesitate when Bucky shoved a wad of bills in his face. Bucky’s overtime, under the table cash he earned doing the few dangerous welding jobs they let him have was more than enough incentive for the taxi driver. 

By the time they neared home, Steve was halfway asleep again, startled as he was by their unexpected romp in the snow. Bucky had Steve’s head in his lap, stroking his hair until he caught the driver watching in the rearview mirror. 

Fixing the cabbie with a glare, Bucky let one hand rest gently on Steve’s neck, tracing nonsense patterns against his skin, while reaching over to tuck he blankets more securely around Steve. 

The cab stopped outside the apartment, idling noisily. Bucky forked over another few dollars to ensure the cabbie had no recollection of their faces or home address. The odds of the hospital actually reporting the theft of a patient, or the police tracking down this particular taxi were unlikely, but Bucky wasn’t taking any chances.

-

It was a worrying sign of how far gone Steve was when he didn’t protest to Bucky hoisting him out of the cab and carrying him up the stairs. Chewing the inside of lip, Bucky supported a slumping Steve as he fumbled for the key. 

Inside their freezing apartment at last, Bucky deposited Steve on the bed before securely closing the door on the outside world. That was enough. No more mystery, no nurses, no shifty eyed cab drivers. Enough. 

Bucky pulled the curtains tight, then coaxed a few stubby candles to life. They had a lamp, but Bucky didn’t want any more attention. It was paranoia on his part, and Steve would have teased him if he wasn’t curled up in a ball, shaking violently. 

Gathering pillows and rolling up a few towels, Bucky propped Steve up as best he could. Steve wasn’t coughing, not yet. If the mean quarantine lady was right, Steve’s head cold had worsened to one of several high fever options –pneumonia was the most regularly quarantined at hospitals. 

Bucky supposed he shouldn’t resent them, but he didn’t take kindly to barriers between himself and Steve. They didn’t know how to take care of him, how he needed near constant supervision at night to keep him breathing, keep him coughing up all the gunk settling in his lungs.

After sitting Steve up, Bucky wandered over to the sink to consider his options. Steve was too hot, the water from the sink was cold, but didn’t seem like enough. Mrs. Rogers knew about these things, gave Bucky a crash course once after he asked, a few years back. She talked about core temperature getting to high, how a fever could get hot enough to cook a person’s brain. 

Bucky returned to Steve, already rolled off his pillows, attempting to bury his face more completely in the collection of blankets – old and new. Bucky pulled him back up despite his grumbling. Steve was wearing the collared shirt and grey slacks he left in that morning, Bucky carefully guided Steve out of them, starting with the belt. Steve moved automatically, eyes glassy, skin hot to the touch. Even radiating heat, Steve continued to shiver as Bucky stripped him down to boxers and an undershirt. 

Gathering Steve’s slept in, wrinkled clothes, Bucky moved to stand when Steve’s breath hitched. 

Bucky was back at his side in an instant, hands moving along his back, sitting him upright so he hunched forward a little, listening intently to Steve’s shallow breathing. But the coughing didn’t start, just a second little hiccup, a sniff. 

Climbing onto the bed, Bucky framed Steve’s face in his hands, carefully tilting his head back. Steve was panting again, sweat dripping down the side of his face. 

“Not supposed to… to be here” Steve whispered hoarsely, eyebrows pinching together. “I tried to tell ‘em…Ma’s gonna kill me…” a few tears spilled over, tracking down his burning cheeks. Snot was starting to escape despite his sniffing. 

“Shhhh” Bucky hushed him “I’ll talk to her for you, get her right on the phone” Bucky thumbed away a few of the tears and pushed back Steve’s sweaty bangs. If the fever was high enough – and it definitely was – Steve slipped from valiantly hiding his discomfort to delirious rambling. 

Bucky never argued with him, talking soothingly to try and keep him calm. Steve didn’t really get any sleep when he was sick – he’d flip from dozing to coughing to continuously pushing blankets on or off the bed in a matter of minutes. 

“Woke up at a hospital” Steve said, face crumpling “I can…can…can’t be there, she wasn’t there” 

“I know Steve” Bucky said, catching the new tears as the coursed down his face “But I’m here. I got you home.” 

Steve shook his head miserably, hands shaking in his lap. “You’re not here” Steve said, hushed, to himself “I got lost, got lost, I’m not here, not really” he kept shaking his head, kneading his hands together. 

“Steve?” Bucky said, trying to recapture his attention. But it was too late, his eyelids were drooping, breaths dropping a little deeper as he curled up tighter. 

Bucky caught a hold of him as he slumped, drawing Steve closer. 

“I’m right here, Steve, right here” he repeated, speaking softly in Steve’s ear, making up his mind. The fever was much, much too high for Bucky to do anything else. 

-

They made it down the hall without incident, Bucky lugging Steve and an armload of towels towards the shower stalls a few doors down from their crummy apartment. This half of the building was already warmer than their room, radiators in each room keeping the swirling storm at bay. 

The lights outside the shadows of their room were irritating, Steve was intent on backtracking the minute Bucky opened the door. It took Bucky a moment to convince Steve to tuck his face against Bucky’s shoulder and shuffle along beside him, bare feet skimming over the thinly carpeted floor. 

At the showers, Bucky closed the door and stuffed one of the towels under the doorjamb. There wasn’t a lock, so this would have to do. 

To his credit, Steve was more responsive under the glare of the bathroom lights than Bucky had seen him since finding him in the hospital. He was standing where Bucky left him, flushed and shaking, but on his feet. 

Not that he was making a lot of sense. 

“Not supposed to be here either” Steve muttered, eyes flicking around. 

Bucky took his hand, led him towards the shower stall furthest from the door. “Need to cool you off, Steve” Bucky explained lightly. Steve follow begrudgingly, letting Bucky tug off what was left of his clothes. 

Figuring Steve wasn’t going to willingly stand under the streams of freezing water, Bucky undressed too. Steve was suddenly very concerned.   
“I thought we talked about this” Steve said, distressed. 

“Talked about what, Steve?” Bucky asked, turning on the shower. 

Steve frowned at him fiercely, looking small, naked, and completely ridiculous. “You said shower sex was a bad idea”

Bucky nearly collapsed he was laughing so hard. Steve was rarely blunt when it came their relationship. His abrupt indignation after all of the stress and concern built up over the past few hours splintered something inside Bucky. 

“I did,” Bucky said finally, gathering some composure. “You’re right. No shower sex” He reached out for Steve’s hand, moving into the icy water. “Come here”

Steve sighed, deflating. “Okay” He moved reluctantly, turning his face away from the spray. 

Bucky got a hold of Steve’s shoulders, wrapping his arms around him loosely to keep him under the shower head without bearing the brunt of the cold. Goosebumps prickled up Bucky’s arms, Steve was a furnace in his arms. Steve tensed as the water tricked down over Bucky’s shoulders, his sweaty skin sticking to Bucky. 

Gradually Steve relaxed, resting his back against Bucky’s chest. Buck could feel Steve’s breath rattling in his chest, but he wasn’t coughing, yet. Tilted his head to the side, Bucky let the water stream down, dampening Steve’s hair. Bucky ran his fingers through the blond tangles, rinsing out some of the sweat. 

Steve hummed softly, leaning into his touch. Bucky was pleased to see Steve’s face losing some of the deep red flush. Steve’s shaking was lessening to shivers, Bucky put a palm to his forehead. Bucky felt a raised bump under his hand, leaned forward to see the bruise blossoming near Steve’s hairline. 

Bucky frowned, keeping his touch light. Steve hadn’t left with a bruise that morning. Dropping his hands down to the back of Steve’s neck, Bucky pressed his nose against Steve’s wet hair, whispering nothing of consequence. 

Steve closed his eyes, feeling a bit saner. His head was pounding, chest tight, but he was aware of Bucky behind him, felt his chest rise and fall and tried to match his breathing to   
Bucky’s. 

They stayed like that for some time. 

-

Steve was starting to sway, hovering on the edge of sleep when Bucky turned the water off. Grabbing the towels, Bucky started with Steve, rubbing him down and wrapping the towel around him. Steve was aware of Bucky talking, not quite picking up on the words. It felt like somebody had been stuffing cotton behind his eyes, packed thick and pressing at the inside of his skull. 

Steve watched Bucky hopping around, trying to pull on pants without getting the material wet. It was kind of sweet, Bucky, with his dripping dark hair and shoulders and jumping around ungracefully. Steve smirked lazily, blinking slowly. 

Bucky caught Steve staring, felt a blush despite the situation. Stepping over to Steve, Bucky brought their foreheads together, ruffling Steve’s hair with the towel. Steve’s eyes were a bit unfocused, Bucky thought maybe if he could get him back in the next couple of minutes, he might fall asleep before he heated up again. 

Snagging Steve’s clothes, Bucky bundled him up in a towel, picking him up in the same movement. Steve hardly weighed 90 pounds, Bucky was careful not to remind Steve of the fact very often. The moment Steve’s feet left the ground he started grumbling.

“Yah Steve?” Bucky whispered as he moved quickly down the hall. 

"Put me down" Steve's voice was barely a whisper, but his disgruntlement made Bucky smile. "Come on Buck, I can walk."


End file.
